


You Saw the Whole of the Moon

by gwenweybourne



Series: Moonlight [1]
Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: BJ POV, Burns, Canon-Typical Violence, Cuddling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Related, Explosions, Eye Trauma, Friendship/Love, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Medical Procedures, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Ableism, Some coarse language, hints of Hunnihawk but mainly close friendship, hurt!Hawkeye, no graphic depictions of injury or trauma, out of sight out of mind, season 5, super soft BJ and Hawk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:26:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26167867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwenweybourne/pseuds/gwenweybourne
Summary: "Out of Sight, Out of Mind" (Season 5, episode 3) from BJ's POV and expanded.Hawkeye was just trying to help. Like he always was. BJ would never forget the sound of his scream when the explosion happened.
Relationships: B. J. Hunnicutt/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce
Series: Moonlight [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952824
Comments: 22
Kudos: 92





	1. I Had Flashes

**Author's Note:**

> I love this episode so much. But 25 minutes wasn't enough. And I just wanted Hawkeye to have some more comfort and care, so I wrote actual script dialogue into this, and then around the gaps and into the cracks. Some Hunnihawk feels, but mostly just the growing bond between two best friends in a time of need. Much softness and cuddles.

The saying “everything is fine until it’s not” had never become so poignant to BJ Hunnicutt until he’d been drafted into the Korean War. Life at the MASH 4077 alternated between long stretches of boredom followed by sudden and sometimes even longer stretches of blood, chaos, and death as casualties poured in from the choppers and buses.

Slowly, as his first weeks turned into months, BJ had become increasingly accustomed to things no person should ever consider normal: the devastating injuries and the cries and moans of the injured young men (and _god_ , they were so young), some begging for the comfort of their mothers as they died in a land so far from home. If he fully opened his heart to each and every single one, he’d have lost his marbles ages ago.

But on that cold night, when BJ heard a scream slice through the air, it also sliced clean through his psyche. It was a different kind of scream. A base, visceral, human scream of pain and fear in the exact moment a severe injury occurred. BJ didn’t hear those kinds of screams very often here. For the most part the injured were either already unconscious or deeply in shock by the time he received them. They’d already exhausted those screams by then.

The scream itself was bad enough. What sent BJ’s adrenaline spiking was the fact that he immediately recognized the scream as belonging to Hawkeye Pierce.

BJ jerked upright, flung back the covers, shoved his feet clumsily into his boots and barely had enough wherewithal to grab his robe to somewhat guard against the cold as he burst out of the Swamp, struggling into the garment at the same time his mind spun, trying to piece together what could have happened.

He was registering higher-pitched female screams now, as well. But they sounded different. They were screams of fear and not of pain. They were screaming Hawkeye’s name. They were frightened for him.

_The nurses. That’s right … their heater busted … it’s cold … Hawk went to fix the heater … the heater … oh, my god …_

It occurred to BJ as he ran at top speed in the direction of the nurses’ tent that the sound of an explosion had preceded Hawkeye’s scream. But by now BJ was so inured to the sound of explosions that it had barely registered. He had neither time nor inclination to consider the implications of _that_.

But Hawkeye’s screaming had not stopped. And when BJ approached the tent — which thankfully did not appear to be on fire — the door burst open and Hawkeye stumbled out, hands clamped over both of his eyes. The nurses poured out after him, still screaming as well, helplessly reaching for him, expressions of horror etched into their terrified faces. They’d seen the same medical disasters as BJ, but this was different. This was Hawkeye, this was their friend, and this was happening right now.

BJ reached them at the same time as Potter and Radar, but he quickly inserted himself into the fray, a sense of eerie calm washing over him as he shifted into medical mode. He had located his patient; he was controlling and assessing. He slipped his right arm around Hawkeye’s back, and his left hand gripped Hawkeye’s right arm firmly, his own forearm therefore pressing both of Hawkeye’s hands in place as reassurance of Hawkeye’s instincts. _That’s right, Hawk, protect the injured area until we can get you into a sterile environment and get a proper look at what happened_.

Out loud, over the din, he said, “It’s BJ, Hawk. I’ve got you. It’s going to be okay. We’re here …”

Margaret appeared on Hawkeye’s right side and slipped an arm around him, speaking comfortingly to him, as well, her own hand encircling Hawk’s arm below BJ’s hand as they hustled him in the direction of the hospital.

“Radar, call the 121st Evac!” Potter barked. “I want their ophthalmologist. Tell them we got a boy with flash burns! Major James Overman! Get his keister up here, pronto!”

“I can’t see, Beej,” Hawkeye rasped, then cried, panicked, “I can’t see a thing!”

“It’ll be okay, Hawk,” BJ murmured, even though they both knew there was no real assurance of that.

And then Potter’s arm was around BJ as they entered the hospital … almost as if they were all trying to hold Hawkeye close to them at the same time.

* * *

The panic eased a fraction when they got Hawkeye inside post-op and were able to feel like they could exert some degree of control over the situation. Margaret ordered the inconsolable nurses back to their tent.

“Oh, Major … we had no idea … if we’d known …!”

“It wasn’t your fault and I don’t have time to mother you over it,” Margaret snapped. “What’s done is done, and what we don’t need right now is all of you clucking and fretting over Captain Pierce while we wait for Major Overman to arrive. Get back to the tent, assess the damage, try to rest, and report for duty as scheduled. We’ll let you know when you can come and grovel at his feet.”

She’d added the last part on purpose … vaguely hoping that Hawkeye would rise to the occasion and snatch that bit of low-hanging fruit, but he didn’t even hear her, rocking and still clutching at his eyes, and it weighed on her heart in a most unexpected way.

* * *

BJ scrubbed and gloved up and sat opposite Hawkeye. He didn’t want to do much before the specialist arrived, but they couldn’t just sit around and twiddle their thumbs. And it was a foregone conclusion that Hawk’s eyes weren’t the only part of his face that was injured in the furnace explosion. That was something within BJ’s purview, thank goodness. Every minute they did nothing constructive to address Hawk’s injury, pain, and fear felt like torture. God knew how long it would take Radar to get the major out of his bed and into a chopper to bring him to camp, but this was something he could work on in the meantime.

“Okay, Hawk,” BJ said softly. “I want you to take your hands away now, but keep your eyes shut, all right? Avoid letting any unnecessary light in until Overman arrives and examines you. I’m no eye specialist, but we need to get at any burns on that pretty face of yours.”

Hawk actually managed a ghost of a smile as he slowly lowered his shaking hands, keeping his eyes closed. “Don’t tell me now I’m blind _and_ ugly!”

“Neither,” BJ murmured, gently tipping Hawkeye’s head up with two fingers under his chin, examining him closely. “Not blind. Just blind _ed_. Let’s stick with the verb for now.”

Margaret pressed her lips together, holding back a gasp at the rising injuries on Hawkeye’s ashen face. The explosion had all but singed off his eyebrows and burned the delicate skin around his eyes and over his cheekbones and nose. It wasn’t good, but also they’d seen so much worse. It was just so much more difficult to maintain professional decorum when it was a colleague on the proverbial table. A friend.

“Looks like just first-degree burns, Hawk,” BJ said. “We’ll clean them and dress them while we wait for Overman. Catching it quick so we should be able to avoid any infection, blistering, or scarring. And I put myself in charge of these wounds. If the other guy is Overman, I’m the under-man.”

“Thanks, Beej,” Hawkeye whispered.

“No charge,” BJ murmured.

The unspoken question hung in the air: _what about my sight?_ But they could only do what they could do and hope that the ophthalmologist would have more answers.

* * *

After treating Hawk’s superficial burns, BJ reluctantly left the ward long enough to get properly dressed and choke down something from the mess tent before going back to check on his bunkie.

He returned to see the ophthalmologist Major Overman beginning to wrap gauze around Hawkeye’s head, covering his eyes completely, and giving him instructions to keep the bandages on and rest his eyes completely for the next few days.

“How does that feel?” Overman asked, as he fastened the end of the bandage in place.

“… blind,” Hawkeye said grimly.

Overman didn’t react. “Okay, Hawkeye,” he said blithely, “you take it easy for a couple of days. I’ll be back Friday.”

“Listen … uh, one important question,” Hawkeye said, attempting a joke as he fished for reassurance. “… will I be able to keep my nickname?”

“Let’s hope so,” Overman murmured.

BJ inwardly winced. _That does not inspire confidence. C’mon, riff back at him, Major. Anything …_ _give him something …_

Hawk cast his line again. “Just wondering if I should rent a seeing-eye dog or buy one.”

Again, Overman didn’t bite. He got to his feet and patted Hawk on the shoulder in a patronizing manner. “See you Friday.”

He managed a small nod, suddenly looking very small … very much like … a Hawk with his wings clipped.

It was just a waiting game now, and BJ felt more helpless than ever.

The nurses wanted to apologize again, and BJ was due for rounds. All he could manage was to pat Hawkeye on the shoulder and tell him he was there for anything his friend needed.

Hawk’s first response was a joke. “Well, if you’re going by the PX, you could get me a coloring book and some crayons.”

Unlike Overman, BJ lobbed it right back. “Well, I think you’re sick enough to qualify for the big box.” He smiled softly. “I gotta go.”

The corner of Hawkeye’s mouth quirked for a moment, and then his second response was far more vulnerable. “BJ … come and visit me a couple hundred times, willya?”

“At least,” BJ said, touching Hawk’s shoulder again.

Hawk hung his head and resignedly waved in BJ’s direction, BJ sighed through his nose and headed off for his shift. Wanting more than anything to just keep Hawk company for the day. Keep him distracted from his anxiety and fears. But he had his duty to attend to. And besides, Hawk needed rest and sleep more than anything else. He hadn’t been down very long before the accident happened. BJ hoped his friend passed a quiet day resting in the ward.

Even as he knew that was about as likely as Klinger re-enlisting or Frank Burns growing a conscience.

* * *

And, sure enough, Hawkeye was ordered to convalesce in the Swamp after continuing to attempt to monitor patients in his blinded state. A nurse would coax him back into his cot, but Hawk would be back up the moment their back was turned, fumbling his way around to engage with patients, grabbing for charts he couldn’t read.

And now BJ was going to attempt the impossible: putting Hawk to bed.

“You’re exhausted,” he said, frustrated, coaxing Hawkeye out of his robe and considering hiding his boots after Hawkeye reluctantly unlaced and removed them.

“Don’t hide my shoes, Beej,” Hawkeye warned.

“I’ve done no such thing!”

“You were thinking it.”

“… has your blindness given you ESP now?”

“You just think really loud,” Hawkeye said, then gasped. “Now, stop that! That’s just lewd, Beej! I’m going to tell Peg on you.”

“Shaddap,” Beej chuckled, helping Hawk into his bunk and pulling the blankets over him. “You haven’t slept since the accident. You need to rest your entire body, not just your eyes. C’mon, Hawkeye … you know that sleep promotes healing. You need this.”

 _Dammit,_ I _need this. I need you to stick around here. And you need your eyes._

Hawkeye grumbled wordlessly, but let BJ settle him in.

“Good night, Hawkeye.”

“Mmm. Good night, Master.” Then, Hawk’s voice turned sickly sweet. “Nighty-night, Frankums!”

“Oh, stuff it, Pierce.”

Both Hawkeye and BJ knew that Frank had implored Potter to transfer Hawk to the 121st to “recover” and was sore that Potter had shunted him back to the Swamp instead.

“Sweet dreams to you, too.”

BJ chuckled and switched off the light. He felt better knowing Hawkeye was close and contained. He wasn’t a strongly religious man, but every night before he slept, if he was conscious enough to do so, he prayed for Peg and Erin and the rest of his family, for his friends at the 4077, and for an end to the war so the killing on both sides would stop and he could return home. And tonight he added an extra prayer for Hawkeye to get some much-needed rest.

* * *

For the second time in a week, BJ woke to what sounded like an explosion and Hawkeye screaming. Only, as he jerked awake, he realized it wasn’t an explosion, just the sound of various things clattering to the floor and Hawk’s cries also coming from the floor.

“I can’t breathe … I can’t … it’s so dark … it’s so fucking dark … I can’t see … I can’t breathe … BJ, help me … Beej, are you there? Oh god …”

BJ squinted and saw Hawk starting to claw at his bandages, sobbing. BJ flung himself from his bunk and tackled Hawkeye. “Hawk … no! Stop it … Hawkeye … you’re okay … please … it’s BJ … I got you … shhhhhh …” As gently as he could while still controlling the other man’s flailing, BJ dragged him upright, pinning his arms by his sides to prevent him from damaging his bandages and potentially injuring his eyes further.

“Hawkeye … you can breathe … there’s lots of air … you need to calm down …”

“I know … I know there’s fucking air!” Hawk yelled. “ Don’t talk to me like I’m an idiot! I’m having a goddamned panic attack! My brain is telling me there’s no … air … fuck …” Hawkeye was shaking, hyperventilating.

“I’ll take you outside, Hawkeye,” BJ gasped, then grabbed Hawkeye’s hands and brought them up to his face. “I’m right here. I’m real … this is real … just try to breathe … and we’ll go outside. I know the canvas is down and it makes it so dark in here. Even I get a little rattled by it sometimes.”

“Uh-huh,” Hawkeye whimpered, his fingers digging into BJ’s stubbled cheeks, and feeling the line of his jaw, one hand threading into his hair, the tactile sensations seeming to help.

And then, there was one sensation that cut right through everything. Frank.

“Oh, for heaven’s sakes!” he yelled, sitting up in his bunk. “All these histrionics … simply ridiculous … can’t you see the man’s gone off his rocker, Hunnicutt! Just get the colonel to write him a Section 8 already.”

“SHUT UP, FRANK!” BJ and Hawk yelled in unison. And then they turned to each other — Hawkeye instinctively knowing that BJ would look at him — and both grinned.

“Nice” BJ said, smirking.

And they both took a breath and Hawkeye finally let his hands fall away from BJ’s face.

“C’mon,” BJ said softly. “Let’s get a change of scenery.”

Hawkeye nodded, still too rattled to properly quip back. BJ stood and carefully helped Hawkeye up to sit on the edge of his bunk before BJ fumbled for his own boots, not wanting to turn on the light for the sake of Hawk’s eyes.

“Finally,” Frank huffed. “I don’t understand you claustrophobics … find something _real_ to be afraid of.”

BJ was lacing his boots when he felt the jab on his friend’s behalf. “Keep it up and I’ll give you something very real to be afraid of, Frank,” he snarled, then quickly stood and shot out a foot, steel-toed boot connecting directly with the leg on Frank’s cot that was about an inch shorter than the others. After much whining and conniving failed to earn him a “regulation” cot, he’d settled for propping it up with old letters from his wife. Unwittingly apropos as usual.

BJ’s kick knocked the jerry-rigging loose and sent Frank’s cot askew, nearly tipping him out onto the floor. “Oh … now look what you’ve done, you Neanderthal!” Frank spat.

“Go fuck yourself, Frank,” BJ muttered in a rare display of profanity, sitting again to help guide Hawk’s feet into his boots and lacing them up for him. Frank was so taken aback he fell speechless, clutching at the frame of his cot.

Hawk was still trembling, but almost grinned with delight. “Why, you defended my honor, good captain!” he managed to trill in an approximation of a Southern accent.

“I could report you for speaking to a superior officer that way,” Frank muttered.

BJ’s head swung back in his direction. “What’s that now, Frank? I could have sworn you said something, but that can’t be right. Because you’re going to keep your damn mouth shut until we leave this tent. I’m sure that’s what we agreed on, right?”

Frank grunted and flopped over in his disjointed cot to face away from them.

BJ helped Hawk to his feet and reached for his robe. Hawkeye was already dressed in his usual winter sleeping gear of layered T-shirt, sweater, pants, and socks, and a knitted hat on his head, so BJ added his robe, a scarf, and then Hawkeye’s winter coat.

“I need to be able to fit through the door,” Hawkeye complained.

“I need you to stay warm and not develop a cold or worse while your immune system is busy working on your eyes and your burns,” BJ muttered. “So maybe you just let me make the calls here.”

“Yes, Mother,” Hawkeye said primly, and BJ could almost imagine him fluttering his eyelashes under the bandages.

“So, what am I … your mother or your captain?” BJ asked.

Hawkeye didn’t answer, waiting as BJ tugged on his own layers, then, as an afterthought, grabbed a blanket and a pillow from Hawk’s bed, and guided his bunkie out the door.

The moment they got outside, Hawkeye greedily sucked in great lungfuls of the cold winter air and seemed to calm more. BJ slipped an arm around his waist and they walked together quietly.

“Where are we going?” Hawkeye whispered. “I … I don’t want to go back to the Swamp too soon.”

“We won’t,” BJ said, reassuringly. “I know a little place.”

“ _You_ know a little place?”

“Not all of us need ‘a little place’ just for hanky-panky with nurses, Hawkeye.”

“Every time I think I got you all figured out, Beej …”

“Well, I hope that doesn’t happen anytime soon,” BJ quipped. “You might get bored of me and find a new discovery. And then where would I be?”

“No,” Hawkeye murmured. “No, Beej. I would never. Just … no … I …” He shook his head, mouth pursed in distress, and BJ felt a stab of guilt. He was only goofing and he realized he’d unwittingly — and not for the first time — pressed a sore spot for Hawk. Trapper John McIntyre. Hawk’s former partner in crime and everything else. The one who left without saying a proper goodbye. The one Hawk had been desperately chasing the day BJ arrived in Kimpo. Radar had come to pick up BJ. Hawkeye — having commandeered Radar’s Jeep to drive twice as fast — had only been trying to get to Trapper. And missed him by only ten minutes.

* * *

Over time, BJ had come to somewhat understand how important that friendship had been for Hawkeye. It certainly had been impressed on him in his first days in the camp when, while walking with Hawkeye, he’d overheard comments like, “Oh, looks like Hawk and the new Trapper are hitting it off just fine.”

For a while he’d felt like his name had been changed to “Captain BJ Hunnicutt, Trapper’s replacement,” because it’s how he was introduced by everyone, to everyone, every time.

Except Hawk.

Hawkeye always introduced BJ just by his name, no military title, and sometimes adding a bit of hyperbole for flair. “The finest surgeon to ever hail from Mill Valley, California! I mean it … he’s hailed there. They send him pictures of the polished shrines every week as proof …”

The way the chips had fallen, he and Hawkeye seemed to have had no choice but to become fast friends, given what they went through together in their first hours of acquaintance. Having their Jeep stolen. Smuggling Radar into an officer’s club for drinks and then stealing a general’s Jeep. Ambushed on the road, treating wounded in the field, BJ sprawling headfirst into a muddy ditch as he fled from gunfire. Mere hours in Korea and he was already certain he was going to die and never see Peg or Erin ever again. Hawkeye saw him through all of it, and BJ witnessed Hawk’s incredible ability to ignore everything that was going on around him in order to give the best possible medical care and to keep watch over the people around him. BJ wasn’t certain he would have survived the attack if Hawk’s focused decision-making and instructions hadn’t given him something to cling to. And, in the process, he had given Hawk something to hold on to as he grieved the loss of his friend. Trapper wasn’t dead, but he was gone and he hadn’t written, and BJ couldn’t understand why.

Because, by the time he, Hawk, and Radar had finally arrived at the 4077, he and Hawk both drunk as skunks and covered in mud and spilled liquor from the barfight at Rosie’s that had invited itself onto their table, and laughing until they couldn’t breathe … they were friends. Nothing more was said about it … Hawk was his guide in this strange new world, and BJ was Hawkeye’s new partner in crime and comedy, his wailing wall, and his rock. And BJ didn’t know what he’d do without him.

BJ also learned where all of Hawk’s raw emotions went during those calm times of crisis. They came out in his nightmares, his fits of mania, his claustrophobia and deep-seated fears of abandonment and loneliness. And BJ was all right with all of it. He also comported himself in a way that people misread as serene and calm when he also managed a roil of emotions stirred by this hyper-real yet unreal place where they lived and attempted to work.

BJ knew that he and Hawk wouldn’t be here together forever. And if they both had the good fortune to make it out alive, BJ would find a way to say goodbye.

Though he had to admit he was starting to relate a tiny bit to the legendary Trapper John McIntyre in that if he had to leave Hawk in a rush, the way the other man had, he wouldn’t have the first idea of how to say that goodbye.

And that day could come sooner than later if Hawkeye’s blindness turned out to be permanent. He’d be shipped home and BJ would be left alone … with Frank Burns. Oh, sure, they’d bring in a new surgeon who’d sleep in Hawk’s bunk in the Swamp. Maybe someone who’d be introduced around as “Captain X … Hawkeye’s replacement.”

That surgeon’s name wouldn’t matter because who could ever, _ever_ truly replace someone like Hawkeye?

BJ hoped he wouldn’t have to find out on Friday.


	2. I Spoke About Wings ... You Just Flew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BJ and Hawkeye spend a reflective night together under a full moon and try to pass the time until it's known if Hawkeye's sight will return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge hat-tip to episode writers Ken Levine and David Isaacs for writing this beautiful story in the first place. And of which I've quoted heavily here in between my extra pieces. I fiddled with the order of events a little bit near the end before Hawk's soliloquy about his "most conscious day."
> 
> And thanks to online episode transcriptions preventing me from having to transcribe myself, whew ;-) I hope you enjoyed this!

BJ shook himself out of his brief reverie and merely squeezed Hawk a little closer in reply to his moment of fretting. Hawkeye rarely spoke of Trapper. Whether because it was too painful for him, or out of deference to BJ, or a mix of both, but either way, BJ appreciated it. He wanted to think that while perhaps he shared some similarities with McIntyre (though, from the stories he’d heard from others of the hard-edged, philandering womanizer who drank even more than Hawkeye … he couldn’t imagine what they would be) that he was his own person who held his own position.

Before he could ruminate more on that, they’d reached the spot BJ had been looking for. It was just a meager copse of trees near a pond that was more of a glorified puddle, but the water still made sound in the wind.

“I come here to sit in the nicer weather,” BJ said. “I thought we could just sit for a while. Listen to the air. And the water. The trees. We can talk. We can engage your other senses.”

He paused, waiting for Hawkeye to make a lewd remark, as he normally would when BJ fed him a straight line like that, but he just nodded silently, waiting as BJ spread the blanket on the ground and set the pillow up against the tree. He took Hawkeye’s hand. “Now, turn around ninety degrees … that’s right … or left … either way is fine … now sit down and I’ll be sitting down behind you. And you can … lean up against me.”

“Beej?” Hawk asked softly, uncertain.

“It’s okay, Hawk … it’s all fine. It’ll accomplish three things: one, we’ll keep warmer; two, you can feel my voice; and three, you can feel my heartbeat. It’ll help ground you.”

“Okay,” Hawk said, and he sat down, a little off-balance as he tried to anticipate where BJ would be, but BJ reached out and easily guided him to sit back between his legs, shrugging back against the tree until the pillow wedged comfortably in his lower back, providing a better degree of support. And then he reached out and wrapped both arms around Hawkeye, pulling him back gently against his torso, encouraging Hawkeye to rest his head back on BJ’s shoulder.

“What’ll you suppose they’ll say if we’re found like this?” Hawkeye asked.

BJ snorted. “The blind leading the married?”

Suddenly Hawkeye let out a sharp bray of laughter that sounded closer to his regular expression of mirth than anything else BJ had heard from him in the past twenty-four hours. A ray of hope flickered in BJ’s mind.

“I mean, honestly, between that and our combined twenty-seven layers of clothing, and my sound medical advice to get you out of the Swamp for a little bit … I think our excuse will wash.”

“It’s working,” Hawkeye said.

“What is?”

“I can feel your voice. Amazingly, through all the clothes, I can feel your heart. Or maybe I just imagine that I can.”

“A placebo effect is still an effect.”

“Beej?”

“Yeah?”

“I think there’s something else I might be imagining, because I want it to be true, so much, but you have to tell me the truth. You’d be straight with me, right?”

BJ blinked, feeling inexplicably nervous for a moment. “I … um … okay, Hawk. I’ll do my best.”

Hawk’s voice shook slightly. “Is … is … the moon out? And is it visible … I mean, no cloud cover? Is it full … or mostly full?”

BJ blinked again, surprised. “Oh … I …” he craned his head up, annoyed that he had to look to confirm for himself. He simply hadn’t taken notice of it. “Well, jeez, Hawk … it is. It most certainly is … it’s full …” his words trailed off as he understood what that meant. “Hawk … does that mean that you see — even through the bandages — the difference in the light gradient between the darkness of the Swamp and the moonlight outside?”

Hawkeye nodded, sniffling, letting out a wet chuckle. “Yeah … yeah, I really do, Beej.”

BJ bit his lip and squeezed Hawkeye tightly for a moment. “That’s a good sign, Hawk. That’s really good.”

“But what if that’s the most I can ever —”

“Nope, nope, nope,” BJ interrupted. “You don’t get to pop your own balloon seconds after you inflate it. One thing at a time.”

“I’m scared, Beej. I’m really scared,” Hawkeye rasped.

“I know,” BJ said. “And … heck … you’re allowed to be. I’d be terrified, too.”

“What would I do? Couldn’t operate ever again. Couldn’t practise medicine, period. At least not the way I know how to do it. Couldn’t … see a beautiful woman … make a joke about something I see … _see_ my dad’s face again … oh god, Beej …” Hawkeye started to break down again.

BJ held him tightly, feeling his own eyes prick with tears. Imagining those scenarios. But he had to stop because the thought of never truly _seeing_ his daughter again — after having had so little time to gaze upon her newborn face before he’d shipped out — that thought was enough to send him into hysterics, so he scrabbled back from that mental ledge and tried to leap in another direction.

“You stop that, Hawkeye,” he said, his voice thick. “If we both wanted to bawl, we should have stayed in the Swamp so we could at least keep Frank up all night with our wailing. No matter how many emasculating insults he could throw our way. That’s not why I brought you out here. And again … don’t make a mess of your bandages with crying, you selfish ninny.”

“Ninny … _ninny_!” Hawkeye exclaimed, half laughing, half weeping. “How dare you!” He took a few deep, shuddering breaths and started to settle again. “You know … I don’t think I’ve ever really paid attention to the moon here, Beej. Apart from when the light was convenient or deeply inconvenient for sneaking around after dark. Now? It’s the best thing I’ve seen … literally.”

“Easy to take so much for granted here … when we’re constantly preoccupied with how little we have,” BJ murmured.

He heard the smile in Hawkeye’s voice. “That’s a nice little nugget. I’m going to write a little philosophy book based on your insightful _bon mots_. Move over, _I Ching_ , it’s the _Book of Beej_.”

“Over two copies sold,” BJ intoned. “Number thirteen on the _New York Times_ list of Books to Miss for 1952.”

“Not 1952 …” said Hawkeye. “No … I’m going to mine more brilliance from you yet, my friend. Starting now … just …” he yawned “talk to me, Beej? About anything. I’ve been talking all day to distract myself from the darkness. Let me feel your voice in your chest. You have a nice rumble.”

BJ smiled and rumbled deeply in his chest, causing Hawkeye to grin and wriggle happily in BJ’s embrace.

“The air … it smells pretty good tonight, doesn’t it?” Hawkeye murmured. “And the trees sound nice. And the water. The air is cold, but it feels clean. Nothing ever feels clean enough …”

“You wanna hear about being clean enough, well, you haven’t met the elder Mrs. Hunnicutt. My mother. Oh, boy, she’d wash the soap with other soap just to hedge her bets, my goodness. Peg has a fit whenever the in-laws come to visit. It’s to the point where she jokes that we just need to buy a second house and never live in it … just for when they come to town. Except I really don’t think she’s joking anymore. It’s somethin’ else, I tell you, but …” he paused, as Hawkeye made a sound.

“Mmmm, don’t stop, Beej. I wanna hear about your mom dusting the dusters and vacuuming the vacuum cleaner. But … just one thing … you asked me earlier.”

“Hmmm?” BJ asked. “What’s that?”

“You asked me a question before we left the Swamp. And the answer is … everything. You’re everything, BJ. But I didn’t want Frank to hear that. He doesn’t deserve to hear that because he’ll never have anyone say that to him. He’d never understand what that even means.”

“Hawk …”

“I mean it, Beej … I think I might have gone right through the looking glass if you hadn’t been there for me since it happened. The way you’re always there for me.”

“Hawk …” BJ tried again, but had no words at all.

“Somehow I think it might be all right if you’re here with me. You were the first to examine me and practise medicine on me. You took care of me. You’re taking care of me right now. I think I might be okay.”

BJ blinked back tears, swallowing.

“Mmm, now don’t you be a ninny, Hunnicutt. Keep telling me about your family. The elder Hunnicutts. What’s your dad like? Or does Bea just keep him wrapped in plastic until company calls?”

And BJ kept talking, about his family, about Peg and Erin, about whatever came into his head, and he felt Hawkeye gradually relax more and more and finally he went boneless into sleep.

BJ trailed off, listening to the steady rhythm of Hawkeye’s breathing. He let out a long breath and tipped his head back, gazing up at the moon and the few stars visible through its glow. It was too cold to stay here much longer. But he didn’t want to wake Hawkeye so soon after he’d finally let himself relax enough to sleep. BJ was touched by the fact that Hawk felt safe enough to do that with him. He considered, not for the first time, what a strange place this was. _If you’d told me that the highlight of my day would be another man falling asleep in my arms on a cold winter night … it’s lunacy._

But he’d never had a bond like this with another person in his life … except for Peg. And even that was different. It had to be. BJ felt a stab of guilt for equating another relationship in his life with the one he shared with his wife.

Again, he mentally pivoted away from that line of thought of and instead settled on how tired he was. He also hadn’t slept much at all since Hawk’s accident. Had spent nearly every one of those waking hours worried about him.

_I’ll just close my eyes for a minute. It’s not so cold that we’re in any danger of freezing to death out here anytime soon. We’re dry and dressed warmly and sharing body heat. Just need to rest for a minute. Let Hawk get a little shuteye and then maybe he’ll be able to settle in the Swamp._

It was the last thought he had before sleep claimed him as well.

* * *

BJ awoke with a start from a dream he wouldn’t remember and realized, with horror, that they were still outside. _Oh god. I didn’t mean to really go to sleep … how long have we been out here … Hawkeye!_

He pulled his left hand out from where it was kept warm between his body and Hawkeye’s and realized that Hawkeye had unconsciously shifted position and had turned to seek warmth in the crook of BJ’s neck. BJ felt a flood of relief as he carefully touched Hawkeye’s face and nose and found them warm, his breathing slow and steady. Meanwhile, BJ felt like his own nose was about to fall off. He touched it gingerly and wrinkled it a few times, stretching his jaw to test the feeling in the rest of his face. Cold, but not frost-bitten. He’d be all right. He squinted at his watch on the same arm and was even more relieved to find out that they’d been asleep for less than thirty minutes. He flexed his toes in his boots. They were cold, but he could feel them still. He shifted and gently roused Hawkeye.

“Hawk,” he murmured, “Hawk … wake up. We fell asleep. We need to get back to the Swamp. Back to where it’s warm.”

Hawkeye made the unhappy purr he always made when BJ woke him for shifts … any shift. Any time he was asleep, pretty much. “Mmm. Warm here, Beej …”

“Not warm enough, pal,” BJ said. “C’mon … don’t want you to lose any extremities on top of everything else.”

“The extremities that matter are just dandy,” Hawkeye muttered.

BJ rolled his eyes with a smile. If Hawkeye was able to make a bawdy joke, then he was fine. “Come on, sleepyhead,” he urged, shifting forward to force Hawk out of his cozy spot where his breath had dampened BJ’s scarf and left frost in its wake.

Hawkeye grumbled, but as he became more conscious his doctor brain clearly kicked in because he stopped resisting and hunched forward, letting BJ stand up. BJ let out a frosty breath and stamped his cold feet, stretching his legs before reaching down to haul Hawkeye to his feet. He grabbed the blanket and pillow, draping the former over Hawkeye’s shoulders and slipped an arm around him, leading them back to the Swamp.

* * *

Back in the tent, BJ stoked the stove and took off Hawkeye’s jacket, scarf, and boots and got him settled back into his bunk, returning the blanket and pillow. Hawkeye had made a few feeble attempts to do for himself, but he was too sleepy to put up much of a fight and it was just easier to let BJ take care of it.

“You’re gonna be the greatest dad when you get home, Beej,” he mumbled, curling around his pillow and forming a nest in his blankets as BJ made sure his cold feet were tucked in. “Okay … second-greatest. Daniel Pierce still holds the title.”

“Deservedly so,” BJ whispered with a smile. “Big boots to fill.”

“Mmmm. He’s more of a brogue man, but close enough,” Hawkeye murmured.

“Remember that moonlight, Hawk. Can you see it?”

Hawkeye’s head moved fractionally in a sort of nod. “Pennies … in a stream …” he warbled roughly, digging up the lyrics from the popular Margaret Whiting song. “Falling leaves … a sycamore … moonlight in Vermont.”

“Close enough,” BJ said, shedding his own boots and jacket and huddling into his bunk, this time feeling more certain that Hawkeye would rest well this time.

* * *

And he did. The next morning Hawkeye softly hummed “Moonlight in Vermont” as they got ready to go to breakfast, giving BJ a cheeky grin. BJ just smiled, relieved to see Hawk’s mood improved. It was still going to be a stressful wait for the next two days, but seeing Hawkeye smile was a good sign that his frame of mind had shifted from the despair of “what if?” and on to making the best of things.

And he certainly made the best of things. “Hitting” golf balls, short-sheeting Frank’s bunk, getting Radar to read his mail for him, and then honking on a duck call given to him by Klinger so he could summon assistance or company when he needed it. He even spent time in the OR, giving advice as the doctors and nurses told him about the procedures they were performing, and, curiously, informing BJ he’d accidentally nicked an intestine simply by the faint bowel smell he was able to detect. He spent time with a patient he’d befriended in post-op — a young man named Tom Straw who’d been blinded by a grenade.

They’d even hatched a scheme to teach Frank Burns a lesson. Frank would listen to the baseball games as they happened live, and then had taken to making bets with Radar and other enlisted men who could only listen to the game when it was rebroadcast hours later on the Armed Forces Radio frequency. He was cleaning up and that simply wouldn’t do.

With the help of Radar and Klinger, BJ and Hawkeye staged their own ballgame on the overridden frequency with Hawkeye playing the part of the commentator and the other creating the sounds of the game and the crowd, feeding Frank an incorrect score and outcome.

It was all good fun, but BJ wished Hawkeye would try to rest more. But at least his nights passed more calmly. Sometimes, after lights-out, BJ heard Hawk humming “Moonlight in Vermont” softly to himself and doing deep-breathing exercises. BJ was glad Hawk was coping, though he found himself often thinking back to that cold night they’d spent together under the moon. Even now he noticed the light from the full moon seeping in through some of the cracks in the canvas covering.

The day Overman was due to arrive to remove Hawkeye’s bandages and see if his sight had been restored, Hawkeye, rightfully so, was extra jumpy. They’d just bid Tom Straw goodbye and good luck when Hawkeye leapt to his feet.

“Beej, let’s get in the Jeep and go for a ride. You drive.”

“Hawkeye.”

“All right. I’ll drive.”

“Look, will you settle down for five minutes?” BJ said, holding Hawkeye’s arms and urging him back down. “Sit down. I know what you’re trying to do, and I know how you feel.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” Hawkeye said, shaking his head with a patronizing _you have no idea what the hell you’re talking_ _about_ grin.

“You don’t want to think about what might happen, so you keep running.”

“No, that’s not it. That’s not it. No.” Hawkeye shook his head again, then shrugged. “Look, look, look … when Doctor Overman comes in here and unwraps my package, I hope to God I’ll have my sight back, but …” Hawkeye paused, trying to get his thoughts in order “… something fascinating’s been happening to me.”

“What’s that, Hawk?” BJ asked, curious.

“One part of the world has closed down for me, but another part has opened up. Sure, I-I … I keep picturing myself sitting on a corner with a tin cup, selling thermometers, but … I’m going through something here I didn’t expect. Or maybe I should have. It was what you were trying to do for me that night we spent outside. Engaging my other senses.”

BJ smiled a little, leaning forward.

“This morning,” Hawkeye said, his voice softening with wonder, “I spent two incredible hours listening to that … that rainstorm. And I … and I didn’t just hear it. I was _part_ of it. I’ll bet you have no idea that … that rain hitting the ground makes the same sound as steaks when they're barbecuing. Or that … thunder seems to echo forever.”

BJ shook his head in amazement. He’d never heard Hawkeye speak this way before. Like he’d had some kind of incredible epiphany.

Hawkeye continued, “And you wouldn’t believe what … how funny it is to hear somebody slip and fall in the mud. It … it had to be Burns.”

BJ grinned.

“Beej, this is full of trap doors, but I, uh … I think there may almost be some kind of advantage in this. I’ve never spent a more conscious day in my life.”

BJ didn’t know what to say. He was trying to picture everything Hawkeye had experienced and thought. And in that beautiful moment, he knew that no matter what happened, Hawkeye would be okay. He’d get through this. Even if it meant leaving his eyesight behind in Korea.

As things went in the 4077, the moment of serenity was followed by Frank Burns storming in to antagonize Hawkeye and BJ having to break up a potential fist fight between the two men. Only Frank would square off with a blinded man. Only Hawkeye would think he had a chance of winning. Knowing Frank … Hawk probably would have licked him pretty good.

BJ had Nurse Able hustle Hawk out of the ward, while he turned to Frank.

“He’s lucky you stepped in,” Frank sneered.

“You’re lucky I didn’t let him kill ya.”

Frank looked at him and looked away, and they both knew BJ was right.

* * *

And then, finally, it was the moment of truth. BJ, along with Margaret, Klinger, some of the nurses, and even Frank, watched anxiously as Overman carefully snipped the layers of gauze wrapped around Hawkeye’s head, leaving just the protective pads over his eyes.

“Now, Hawkeye,” Overman instructed, “shade your eyes.”

Hawkeye placed one hand loosely over his eyes, pressing into his forehead as Overman gently reached up and removed the pads from his eyes.

“Now open them slowly,” said Overman.

The entire room held its breath as Hawkeye slowly removed his hand, hesitantly opening his eyes and blinking.

“Well?” asked the doctor.

Hawkeye kept his hand in his line of sight. He paused, then smiled. “Five, right?”

“Yeah.” Overman finally chuckled at one of Hawkeye’s quips.

“They work,” Hawkeye declared with a relieved grin.

They all cheered, and BJ felt almost overwhelmed by his sense of relief. For Hawk, but also — selfishly — himself. _We all want to go home, but I didn’t want it to happen this way. I didn’t want to lose him like that. When he goes, he needs to be alive and completely in one piece. When he goes home … it has to be when I’m going, too. We leave together. That’s the only scenario I will consider._

He took a moment to consider what that meant. But, once again, the mood changed as the ballgame score was announced and Frank stupidly outed himself as having cheated on the bets and was quickly pursued by the angry nurses.

Hawkeye stood and moved to the window. BJ followed him and they pushed the curtains aside to look out into the camp.

“That compound is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen,” Hawkeye said quietly.

BJ grinned and squeezed his shoulder. “Congratulations, Hawkeye. “You’re a lucky guy.”

“Yeah,” Hawkeye murmured. “I got lucky twice. First I got the chance to see without my eyes, and then I got ’em back.”

* * *

That night they celebrated in the officers’ club. Hawkeye slipped a nickel into the jukebox and “Moonlight in Vermont” began to play. He moved back across the floor and caught BJ for a brief moment, slipping one hand over his shoulder and another into his hand, sweeping him into a slow fox trot.

“Hawk …” BJ chuckled.

Hawkeye beamed up at him for a moment, then, though he’d put BJ into the lead position, turned them around so he could catch Nurse Able’s eye as she passed by. “Oh, my darling, would you please cut in and rescue me from this cad. He’s entirely too fresh!”

Able laughed softly and allowed Hawkeye to draw her into the dance. “Anything to help, ma’am …”

“Aw, nuts!” BJ mock pouted, snapping his fingers as he returned to his drink at the bar, turning to look at Hawkeye snuggled up to the nurse, but when he was facing BJ, he opened his eyes and grinned, winking broadly.

“Oh, yours is the second-most beautiful face I’ve seen since I regained my sight,” Hawkeye sighed, nuzzling into Able’s neck as she rolled her eyes and shrugged to urge Hawk into a more respectable position.

“Oh, is that so? And whose was the _most_ beautiful, huh?”

Hawkeye pulled back to look into her eyes, affronted. “Why, BJ’s, of course! As if there were any question.”

“As if,” Able chuckled with a sigh, letting Hawk draw in close again.

Hawkeye cast another glance at BJ over the nurse’s shoulder, but his face wasn’t full of mirth this time. He smiled softly and mouthed _thank you_.

BJ raised his glass in response. After all … what else could he do?


End file.
